


Five Hundred Miles

by Sabo (Sabou)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Closeted Character, Coming of Age, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28097766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabou/pseuds/Sabo
Summary: That summer, the other boys in the village school started whispering about the girls’ soft hair, raving about growing bosoms beneath thin fabric and the movements of their hips when they walked. But Lovino did not dream of girls. No. He dreamt of broad shoulders, graceful movements, tendons and that unmistakable, lilting Spanish accent.
Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Five Hundred Miles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [George deValier](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=George+deValier).



> This story is embedded in George deValier‘s ‚Veraverse‘.
> 
> If you have not read either Bésame Mucho or Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart you might be confused with the references in this story.
> 
> This is a translation of my story which was originally written in German.

Before Antonio left there were only small, daily reminders that let him know that something new was here. Something exciting, something that _only he_ knew and which was kept from his brother and grandfather. It was his very own secret. It meant not needing Roma‘s approval for his own life choices. It meant becoming his own person.

The terrifyingly gentle, reserved and fleeting glances Antonio gave him across the room never failed to make his cheeks burn. His body moved with determined grace, his voice was purposeful and firm when he spoke. Lovino was eager to watch the man from afar, brooding over what was going on inside him. But Antonio's privy grin, whenever he met his gaze, always made his heart race. Despite all of this, not a word was ever said about it. Neither from Lovino's side, who at this point preferred to die with this unspoken thing between them than ever reveal it - nor from Antonio.

Certainly, sometimes there were questions in Lovino that made his skin tingle uncomfortably whenever he pondered why a grown man caused such sensations in him. He skillfully quenched these thoughts before they came to the surface and soured his mood. He didn't want to think about why he felt the way he did. He didn’t want to know what it meant.

After the explosion, after Antonio had seemed like a different person that evening, he had left their village. And from then on, it all went down the gutter. The hopes and dreams he awakened in Lovino lingered, remained. Unfulfilled and doomed to stay that way. Frozen in time. The void returned like an old acquaintance.

In retrospect, none of these sweet words or gentle looks had any meaning, they made no move to step out of the shadow, they had no aim to become reality. This stupid fiddling around with his own thoughts had simply ended abruptly, because Antonio left. He was gone. And he would stay away forever - who could blame him? Antonio could go where ever he pleased. Belgium, France, England. Why would he choose bitter little Lovino when the whole world lay to his feet?

Lovino had to hide thoughts, feelings and tears from himself but also from Grandpa and Feliciano. For the first few weeks when Antonio’s absence was still a fresh wound in him, he tried to reign his emotions in. But with Antonio's continued absence it seemed as if the pressure on his chest got bigger and bigger, while the tears rolled down his cheeks unnoticed at night and seeped into his pillow. On these nights, Lovino pulled his blanket close to him and suppressed the sobs that threatened to escape from his trembling chest. But the pain and emptiness always lingered. Grandfather seemed to sense his crestfallen mood, but he didn’t comment on it.

.

It had been about a year since the day Antonio had left, when Lovino found himself thinking of Antonio unbiddenly with every brief absence of his defensive mechanisms. He became an obsession. Thoughts of him — how he might do, if he might come back, if he had forgotten him, flooded his mind. Over time he lost control of these desires and longings. Day after day he waited in vain for a sign from Antonio. Neither letters, nor rumors reached this little village; not a single visit was made ... after two years, Lovino no longer counted the days. And almost inevitably, what he was trying to avoid eventually set in. Because life worked like that.

A few months before he turned 16, the other boys in the village school started whispering about the girls’ soft hair, raving about growing bosoms beneath thin fabric and the movements of their hips when they walked. Lovino listened to these conversations, was interested in hearing about these seemingly taboo fantasies of his peers and comparing them with his own. Whenever he did, Lovino was desperate to feel like the other boys. To feel normal at least in this way. But Lovino did not dream of girls.

When he spoke to girls, he felt nothing of the need to brag or impress like his classmates did. He didn’t feel an exhilarating rush to conquer, to fool around. No, Lovino was not interested in soft bosoms and curves. Instead, _he_ dreamt of broad shoulders, graceful movements, tendons and that lilting Spanish accent.

.

It was spring again, the breeze carried the scent of rosemary and lavender from the mountains to the village and flooded Lovino's everyday life with memories of a radiant smile; curls tousled by the wind, a loving smile, brown hands; one hope ... an unattainable and distant dream.

That night, Lovino twisted and turned restlessly in his bed. The sheets were clean and dry, carried the scent of the air outside; smelled of him. Of their garden. Lovino tried to defend himself against the unbidden images in his head, but his thoughts reeled and reeled relentlessly. It felt again like that evening in Antonio's rented room opposite the _cantina verde_. Lovino felt his warm breath on his nape; broad hands firm around his back and heard the muffled sighs of his name, uttered in agonised adoration. It was the one memory that had been keeping Lovino awake for months.

Fortunately, Feliciano had gone to sleep already.

Lovino wanted to be alone when he dug up his precious memories from the depths of his heart and allowed himself to revel in them. The moon‘s weak silver light filtered through the blinds of his room. He stared up at the crescent moon. Were Antonio's eyes on it too? Maybe his chest ached with memories of Lovino too. Did the words said to Lovino so easily two years ago still resonate in Antonio, when he thought of Lovino? Did his heart still sing ‚ _mi corazón_ ‘ while thinking of him? Lovino shut his eyes tightly, nestled his cheek against the silky pillow. He was loved, surely. No doubt. He thought of Antonio, allowed himself to drop the cover that he had — ashamed and humiliated — laid over his fantasies. Hesitantly, he explored his own body with trembling fingers, rendered breathless from simply thinking of Antonio close to him. He wanted Antonio's heavy body to crush him, Antonio's lips whispering his name as if in prayer, his strong hands stroking his narrow hips like he did back then, asking for permission, draw a moan from him again.

Whining, he moved his lips against the inanimate fabric of his pillow. He wanted to give him all his kisses and never again feel afraid of losing him, of having to let go eventually. His other hand pressed the pillow closer to his tight chest. Hoping Antonio would feel him. Or respond or come back and stay by his side forever. Lovino muffled himself. Remembered Antonio's smile, the warmth and security he provided in the few months in which he had turned his life completely upside down. He thought of the genuine interest he had showed in who Lovino Vargas really was. In who he could become if only he was given the type of love that he needed in order to grow. To unfold his potential. 

His chest had never felt so full, as if it was about to burst. He exhaled.

 _Once_. Antonio’s arms enfolding him. Silently conveying: I want you.

 _Twice_. Antonio's warm breath against his ear, his moist lips on his neck, nipping ever so gently. _Only you. You‘re mine._

 _Thrice_. Antonio's hips, the bulge between his legs thrusting against his ...

The tension left his body. Lovino exhaled the name of the man who had his heart, voice quivering. As great as the bliss of his fantasies was, Lovino was sure that the feel of Antonio's live, warm heartbeat under his ear could beat anything. To have him close. Safe and alive.

But how could he think of such a thing when the moon mocked and made fun of him like that? When it quietly asked the question: _how can you be so sure that the light of those green eyes was not yet extinguished by the endless black cloak all around me?_

It was only with this thought that Lovino noticed his cheeks were damp and his vision was beginning to blur.

**Author's Note:**

> I did not think very hard about the title of the story. Its a song in the movie ‚inside llewyn davis‘. The lyrics just came up in my head and I thought it suited the general theme of this OS.


End file.
